


lyrical

by incode



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Banter, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bondage, Car Sex, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Foot Jobs, Future Fic, Humor, Kid Fic, Lingerie, M/M, Making Out, Marriage, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Riding, Rope Bondage, Sex Toys, Shibari, Slice of Life, Smut, Songfic, almost, figure skating, kind of???, parenting, skating tech, this is so indulgent lmao, victor being embarrassing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9415034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incode/pseuds/incode
Summary: Victor makes playlists for everything and always wants Yuuri to sing along.Or, various ruminations on how to build a family, by the Katsuki-Nikiforovs.





	1. song of your heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosewounds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewounds/gifts).



> Relaxfic for rosewounds. i told her "give me a couple hours" expecting to write like a thou per her specifications and four days later here we are. pour one out, i guess?
> 
> this timeline will jump all over the place, as i'm just going to add to it willy-nilly as i'm driven to, but i'll note anything relevant in the prefaces to each chapter.
> 
> Kamiko = jpn., “little goddess”  
> Luka = ltn., “light.”
> 
> Mari was their surrogate. if a single one of you brings up mpreg i won't hesitate bitch
> 
> i would love it if you'd comment, let me know what you think? thanks!  
> [skating blog](http://shomasolympicgold.tumblr.com/) / [personal blog](http://dreime.tumblr.com/)  
> scream with me about denis ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Mamin hvostik” = “mommy’s tail.” It’s a Russian term of endearment that refers to a child who clings to their parent’s side.  
> "qûlïn ïm” = “my foal.” Kazakh endearment for kiddos.
> 
> Kunio Shimizu is an _excellent_ Japanese playwright, often compared to Anton Chekhov in theme and structure. He even wrote one riffing on this; _The Dressing Room_ takes place backstage while preparing for a production of Chekhov’s _Seagull._ I highly recommend seeing or reading his plays if the opportunity should ever arise. Don’t be like these fools! Don’t skip out!
> 
> Songs mentioned:  
> Red velvet - ice cream cake ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glXgSSOKlls))  
> Ariana grande - into you ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ekZEVeXwek))  
> Andrew belle - pieces ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izXScOqVhMM))  
> Rhye - open ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sng_CdAAw8M))  
> Nicki minaj - anaconda ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LDZX4ooRsWs))

Their children look just like him. They’ve got a lot of Yuuri, too, the upturn to their nose that he and Mari both got from their mom and the higher brow and big brown eyes (Yuuri cannot  _ stand _ when they cry, and lets Victor be the parent with the backbone when their eyes well up and their lips start trembling. Someday he’ll get a handle on that, he’ll learn to stand up for himself in the face of God’s greatest weapons.) But every day they look a little more like Victor, too, the lank lay of their hair, the way he can pass a hand through it and nearly see gold at the roots of the dark, dark brown locks like running a hand through Victor’s brings out silver. Their cheekbones are a little lower, which means they have the good fortune of not having Yuuri’s chubby cheeks but Victor’s sharper, more angled jawline. Kamiko turns six in two months and Yuuri can’t believe how much she’s grown; she’s tall for her age, in the 90th percentile, the doctor says. Luka is two and a half and restless, constantly; “toddling” is not a word that describes him. He’s more like… an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, at pretty much all times. The immovable object this time happens to be Victor.

“Mamin hvostik!" Victor says as he lets go of Kami's hand; she spins away from him like she would in ballet class, a variant of fifth position. Yuuri can tell she will be a dancer more than she ever is a skater, as long and slender as she is, but she’s confident on the ice and not afraid of the cold. Not afraid to fly, either, relying on her own momentum; she scares them half to death sometimes with her tendency to get distracted and run off. Luka… does not run off. He stays practically underfoot.

“You’re not mommy!” he says as Victor bends to scoop him up. Victor laughs as he swings the kid around a bit and then gathers him close in his arms.

“You’re right,” he says, “I’m Dad. You’re getting very good at calling me on that, you know.” He presses their cheeks together and turns them so they’re both looking at Yuuri. “How about him? Mom or Dad?”

“Daddy!” Luka declares happily. His face lights up as if he’s just realized that Yuuri is there, and he reaches his chubby little arms out toward him, the sleeves of his track jacket a little snug. It might be time for a new one. He whacks at Victor’s shoulder urgently until Victor concedes and moves to where Yuuri is, handing him off.

Yuuri tosses him up in the air for good measure, and Victor glares at him as Luka loses his breath laughing. “You’re a bad influence. My little thrillseekers.” He pinches Yuuri’s cheek. “I’d better go chase down the other one.” Yuuri nods and allows himself a little moment of admiring his ass as he skates away from them at full speed, and he deeply inhales the baby-clean scent of his son’s hair. Tear-free shampoo. Because he never wants to see him cry. He buries his nose in his soft hair as Luka snuggles up against his shoulder, ignoring the fact that his thumb goes straight to his mouth. Victor made this for them, just like he helped him build their life together, and there will be plenty of time for growing pains. For now, their babies can have whatever comfort they need. He watches Victor catch Kamiko around the waist, the little girl squealing with delight, and thinks semi-retirement is  _ severely _ underrated.

 

*

 

“What are you guys seeing?” Yuri pulls himself up onto the counter for all of one second before Otabek notices and tsks at him. He glares at him even as his bare feet hit the floor; they’re wearing matching joggers, Yuuri realizes, Otabek’s hitched up around the knee to reveal his calves. His lips twitch up into a smile. He doesn’t remember Yuri’s crush being begrudging in the slightest, which had been the most strange and surprising thing to witness about their blossoming relationship; Yuri laughing openly at Otabek’s sly jokes, relinquishing the amount of control required to allow himself to ride behind him on whatever scooter Otabek rented in whatever city they found themselves in. They’re both still competing, and have traded off podiums for the past two years; when Yuuri had announced his retirement from competition, Yuri had pitched a fit and made him promise to keep practicing with him, keep him at the top of his game. Yuuri remembers feeling a swell of pride at that, the knowledge that Yuri respected him as an opponent and had the courage to admit it. Thankfully, his quads are still good enough to give Plisetsky a satisfying run for his money, or he thinks he’d get his ass kicked training again. He doesn’t miss that, likes his body a little softer. And Victor likes it, too.

_ “Hi no yō ni samishii ane ga ita,”  _ Victor answers, and Yuuri grimaces at his horrible pronunciation. 

“You could have just said it in English.” He pinches Victor’s side.  _ "An Older Sister, Burning Like a Flame.  _ I saw it when I was a kid and was just hooked. Shimizu is fascinating. Like Chekhov. But more… patient.”

Kami chooses that moment to slide into the kitchen on her fuzzy socks. “Daddy!” she exclaims, breathless. “LOOK at what Uncle Bek got me!”

Victor takes the proferred plastic package. “A Rubik’s Cube, Otabek?” he says, arching a brow even as he reaches for the kitchen scissors on the counter behind him.

Otabek smiles as he seasons the red potatoes he’s searing in oil on the stove. “I know it says eight and up, but she’s a smart cookie. I’ll teach you the trick to it after dinner, qûlïn ïm.”

Yuri wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know how you don’t get pissed off sitting around with all those puzzles,” he tells Otabek, shoving lightly at his shoulder. “You’re gonna teach the kid to be boring, like you.”

Otabek gives him a knowing look. “The only thing that bores me is you, Plisetsky. Who’s in charge of picking the movie tonight?”

Yuri races Kamiko into the living room, no doubt to duke it out between  _ The Prince of Egypt _ and  _ The Princess and the Frog. _ Victor wraps an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders as he leans hard into him. “You know,” he says, nuzzling Victor’s neck, “it hasn’t gotten easier to leave them yet.”

Victor presses a kiss to the side of his head in turn. “Yeah,” he agrees softly, and Yuuri is glad he didn’t choose to tease him about it. He’s been feeling kind of emotionally unsteady lately, and Victor seems to read it off him fine when he can’t really handle jabs about stuff like this. It’s one of the myriad things he loves about him, the amount of their communication that goes unspoken.

“If it’s any consolation,” Otabek pipes up, “I think it’s easier for the kids if you leave without saying goodbye. Parenting psychology, yeah?” He funnels a few pieces of diced apple into his mouth, chews as he leans back against the stove with the cabbage simmering low on the cooktop. “I can’t believe you two have got me reading  _ blogs,” _ he says with distaste. “That’s how much I love your kids.”

Victor shrugs. “It takes a village, I guess.” He steps away from Yuuri and ruffles Otabek’s hair. “Lucky our little village is so batshit nuts.”

Otabek rolls his eyes as he shoves Victor’s arm away from his face. “All right, old man. You two go. Remember, when Yuri gets around Kamiko he becomes a third child I have to keep an eye on. I have to make sure they haven’t managed to burn down our apartment yet. How much do I get paid for this nannying gig, again?”

“You do it out of the goodness of your heart,” Victor reminds him, wrapping himself in his wool coat. “Come along, darling,” he coos in a terrible approximation of an English accent, taking Yuuri’s hand and leading him through the hall to the entryway. “ _ The theatre _ awaits.”

Yuuri groans. “Does everything have to be so damn  _ dramatic _ with you?”

“You married him. You knew he was like this!” Yuri calls from the living room. Victor grins at him sideways as he kisses the back of Yuuri’s hand.

 

*

 

The cab is right out front Yuri and Otabek’s building when they get downstairs. They hurry in out of the rain, and it’s so dark that Yuuri doesn’t realize it’s not an Uber, not someone’s private car, until they’re inside. In fact, the backseat is roomier than any cab he’s been in in Russia yet, two benches of sleek black leather which face each other. Victor exchanges a few pleasantries with the driver behind him in Russian that’s too quick for Yuuri to understand and then shuts the partition, which seals them in a vacuum silence. Yuuri smiles shyly at him as he folds his hands in his lap.

“Is this like… a tiny limo?” he asks, and Victor nods. “What did you say to him? You didn’t mention the theatre.”

Victor picks up Yuuri’s hand again. “I told him to takes us around the city a couple times. Back roads.” He rubs his thumb over Yuuri’s knuckles, a little smile at the corners of his lips. “So hard to leave, and yet so nice to be away, eh?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri lets his head tip back against the seat and sighs, closing his eyes. “I feel like we haven’t had date night in a really long time. I’m excited.”

“Mm,” Victor says, and he suddenly sounds very, very close. “Me too.” He nips at the precise spot on Yuuri’s collarbone that makes him shudder, crowding up into his space.

“Victor!” he gasps when he’s regained the composure that move makes him lose. “The driver -“

“That screen is opaque, sweetheart. It’s just you and me in here.” Victor’s breath puffs over his jawline as he speaks, and his voice is low, steady. He often does this for him at night, just talking in a certain tone and letting his voice calm Yuuri down, and the air in the car is cool and comfortable and the wheels are smooth, and Yuuri finds himself more amenable to Victor’s slight exhibitionism than he usually is. Victor always wants him to fuck him in public, but airplane bathrooms are gross and bar hallways are loud, and you can call him a traditionalist but Yuuri likes their bed, since it affords them so much space to move around in, and he likes to rough Victor up so a soft surface for his knees can come in handy. But Victor’s right - this isn’t public so much as it is… a built space of their very own. Unnecessary, but thrilling. Like the tiny gap between their lips.

Yuuri has had enough of that. He threads both hands in Victor’s hair and draws him up to him, nipping at his bottom lip and soothing it with a flick of his tongue before diving in for real. Victor half-stands and kind of climbs into his lap as best he can in the cramped space, and Yuuri rocks his hips against him lazily, enjoying the warmth and friction of Victor against him.

He pulls back when he feels Victor start to get hard. “Mm,” Victor hums again, pushing Yuuri’s unruly hair back from his forehead and studying him. “Hi.”

Yuuri blushes fiercely. It’s incredible how he can take charge of such a heated kiss and then be rendered nearly speechless by Victor’s easy smile and deep blue eyes. “Hi,” he responds quietly, trying hard not to let his voice tremble.

“Yuuri,” Victor whines then, coming to sit beside him and resting his head on Yuuri’s chest, “you know I love the theatre, and I hate to knock your date idea, but do you think we could manage to exchange the tickets for another night?” He lays his palm on Yuuri’s knee, a promise.

Yuuri tugs him back and looks him over for a moment. “Maybe,” he says finally, “but we’ll have to go in person. If someone as pretty as you asks, who’s gonna be able to resist?” He strokes Victor’s hair, looks at his bottom lip, plump and bitten bright from their kissing. It’s true; Victor is far too pretty for his own good. And Yuuri knows that that’s treading dangerous territory - he does. He could tell Victor that, tease him with the idea of someone else taking advantage of him, but he prefers to keep it to himself and revel in the fact that Victor is  _ his. _

There are very few things that he doesn’t share with his husband, but the fantasy of him succumbing to a night with a hot stranger in a foreign country is one of them. It’s not that he wants to be cuckolded - he just likes to think of Victor in his younger days, before they’d officially met, wild in his head though he knows his secret - that Victor had never been all that interested in partying, at least not with people he didn’t give a shit about. Victor will outpace anyone on clear liquor but he’ll only do so in the company of close friends. Regardless, Yuuri likes to imagine him on a plush hotel bedspread like the ones they’ve spent countless nights under together, so strung out he can’t speak as some idiot who doesn’t know their own luck fucks into him hard.

But never the way Yuuri knows he likes, never good enough to make him  _ cry.  _ Yeah, the idea of skipping out on their plans is sounding more and more appealing.

“Can I take you home?” he asks Victor, smiling as he pets his hair. Victor sighs and shuts his eyes, so his lashes lay starkly over his cheeks. “You’re so gorgeous,” Yuuri praises. “I want to do such disgusting things to you, forever.”

Victor bites his bottom lip and seems to be trying to pull himself together before he answers. Yuuri cups his jaw, feels the heat in his face. “You have me,” Victor says softly, and he’s putting a lot of effort into it, Yuuri can tell; he’s being very serious. His eyes flutter open and he stares Yuuri down as he repeats: “You have me.”

Yuuri groans, pressing the back of his head into the seat again. “Tell him to take us home,” he demands. He really does enjoy the way Victor scrambles to obey his orders. He could take serious advantage of that, if he wanted to, and often does.

He’s getting the feeling he doesn’t need to this time. Victor brats when he wants to get kinky, but he’s been doing none of that tonight, just playing those soft bedroom eyes at him and melting hot all over Yuuri’s body. Victor is good at playing dumb, but he knows exactly what he does to him with all this. He may not be as much of a playboy as his public image makes him seen, but he is  _ adept _ at stirring up trouble. Mainly with the fit of Yuuri’s pants.

 

*

 

He should be worrying about disturbing the neighbors.

Yuuri allows himself a pang of heartbreak for the little old lady on the other side of the wall he slams Victor into in the hallway, unable to quite make it the ten extra feet to their own front door without touching him again. Their slight difference in height puts him in the perfect position to mouth along Victor’s jaw and up to his ear, nibbling behind it, which makes Victor moan aloud.

“Shh,” he teases. “Everyone will hear you.”

“Then take me inside,” Victor pants, “and fuck me till they can’t hear anything else, come on.” He presses forward against Yuuri and wraps one leg around him, so his groin presses into Yuuri’s stomach. “Mm, it has been a while,” he muses, sort of into Yuuri’s hair. “I wonder if you can still make me scream?”

“Is that a challenge, Nikiforov? You know how well that always ends for you.” Yuuri lets his hands skate down Victor’s back and over his ass, pinching him hard. Victor lets out a yelp and then a soft chuckle. 

“Maybe I’m up to being bested,” he says, and Yuuri groans before tugging him along the remaining length of the hall.

He unlocks the door clumsily, and quickly gets Victor pressed up against him again, calculating the leverage he’ll need for the distance he is to cover before hooking his arms under Victor’s thighs and lifting him off the floor. Victor starts giggling immediately, leaning on Yuuri and trusting him with his weight as he walks them through the open door to their bedroom and deposits him on the bed. “Off,” he demands, tapping the leg of Victor’s trousers. Victor squirms around to strip while Yuuri stands and does the same, watching closely as Victor’s stomach and then chest and then arms are bared, and he licks his lips as Victor’s nimble fingers play along the zip of his fly.

“Off!” Yuuri says again. He kneels over Victor but up on his calves, allowing him a little room in which to work. Yuuri is down to his trunks and he can feel the heat coming off of Victor’s skin; he wants to put his weight on him, touch him all over, roll around with him and feel them together. It’s taking every ounce of his willpower not to do so, not to rush headlong into this thing which has been his for years but which his flesh still yearns for - waking up every morning and knowing it’ll be another day where they can hold each other, talk to one another, be with their children, eat together, and at the end of the day make love, not like they are now but slow and sweet and quiet and staggering with emotion, and then fall asleep beside each other and wake up and do it all again. He still burns for it every single day, for Victor’s company and kindness and those boudoir eyes and sweet smile as he kicks his pant legs off the bed with a  _ thump _ as they hit the floor.

Victor reaches up and rests his hands at Yuuri’s waist. “You look so good,” he tells him, and again Yuuri feels that hot blush stain his cheeks. He reaches down to put his own hands over Victor’s. Yuuri stares at him for a few moments, feeling their connection loop from his core through their joined hands and back again. Victor just stares back at him, tracing tiny swirls into Yuuri’s skin with his thumbs.

Yuuri settles onto him, pressing his butt into Victor’s groin and grinning when Victor groans at the friction. “Still the best ass in the business, Katsuki,” he says, shimmying back and forth.

“In which business? In yours?” Yuuri leans down to kiss him, a fairly chaste thing were it not for the way they grind against one another all through it. Yuuri moves up a little higher, plants his elbows around Victor’s head, and his thigh catches on the fabric of Victor’s underwear, and that is  _ not _ cotton so he thinks to look back for the first time.

“Shit,” he says, and Victor laughs, his chest rumbling against Yuuri’s. “You got new ones.”

“You say I have an online shopping addiction, but it benefits you as much as it does me, star,” Victor says. He levers his hips up against Yuuri’s again. “And what am I to do all day, all cooped up?”

“You? Cooped up? With how many shows we’re still doing?” Yuuri kisses his hair, and then his ear again. “And the kids running you in circles? The day you sit around this house with nothing to do is the day we both give up the gun, my friend.”

“Friend is a funny name for someone you’re about to fuck.”

“Who said I’m going to fuck you? And anyway, remember when we were just friends?” Yuuri scoots back and sits in front of Victor with his legs out in front of him. It allows him a cursory appreciation of the way the blue silk shorts lay against his hipbones and the delicate lace at the thighs, but he knows he’ll have to get a closer look.

“No.” Victor sits up a bit so they’re on equal ground. He blinks, looking genuinely confused. “You gave me a lap dance, and then I moved to Japan, and then I kissed you, and now we’re married. That’s how relationships usually go, right?”

Yuuri snorts, even as he flexes his foot against Victor’s hip. “Yeah. That’s courtship.” He skims his foot over Victor’s hardening cock through the fabric. “God, my parents would be so ashamed if they knew the details of how we got together.”

“Can you not bring up your parents while you’re rubbing my dick?” Victor requests, though he opens his legs a little more. “As much as I love them. I love you a little differently.”

“You love me, and I love these shorts,” Yuuri says. “Love makes the world go ‘round.” 

“You love what’s underneath more.” Victor’s grin is feral, but it breaks into a dropped-jaw gasp as Yuuri squeezes with his toes. Yuuri smiles sweetly back. “I’m going to ruin your pretty clothes,” he singsongs, “and then I’m going to ruin  _ you.” _

Victor collapses onto his back. “These were expensive,” he protests weakly, throwing an arm up to cover his eyes as the blush sets dark into his pale cheeks. “I throw out so many things because I adore you.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri props himself up a little higher and bends his knee more, so he can push down on Victor’s groin with more force and control. “Nights out on the town, for example. And your ego. I like that one. I like when I can break it down and make you beg.” Victor whines and parts his lips in a silent, helpless plea.

“Already?” Yuuri asks him. He rocks forward and hovers over Victor on his elbow, his other hand stroking Victor’s forearm until he takes it away from his face. Yuuri smiles at him, and then kisses him deeply, taking Victor’s chin with his thumb and forefinger to guide him to where he wants him and slots their noses next to each other. The kiss is slow and gooey-hot; Yuuri feels the need in him radiate out of his bones and muscles, burning everything to a languid mess until they are nothing more together than a lump of tangled limbs. And Victor kisses him still, kisses back with such intensity. Yuuri can’t seem to draw himself away, kissing messily at his husband’s jaw even as he finally gathers the strength to move things along, not really willing to separate them. But Victor moans and puts his hands on Yuuri’s back, strokes over his shoulder blades and sweeps his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, encouraging. Yuuri nips his way down his neck, payback for Victor’s forwardness in the car, and then he licks at a nipple and sucks it into his mouth, scraping his teeth very lightly over the sensitive bud of nerves.

It peaks satisfyingly against his tongue, and he does the same to the other before languishing more attention on the first. His hands are on Victor’s sides, stroking his heated skin; he dips one hand below the waistband of his little shorts to feel the outline of his hipbones, but gives him no more. Victor is whining and squirming around at the continued stimulation of his sensitive nipples, and Yuuri chuckles, releasing the one he’s working only to catch a glimpse of the darkened skin and suck on it again. He can feel Victor’s length pressing insistently into his stomach from below; he allows himself to move only because it’s so satisfying to hear Victor gasp and then groan deeply at the friction.

_ “Yuuri.” _ Victor sounds  _ so _ offended. “You are such a  _ tease.  _ Please.”

Yuuri puffs a laugh into his chest. “And  _ you _ are  _ easy,” _ he tells him, but he slithers lower down on Victor’s body, nipping at his stomach only a couple of times before wetting his lips and placing them sideways over his dick, now hard enough to be clearly defined under the silk. They’re roomy enough to keep it contained even as it curls up to his belly, however, and Yuuri sends up thanks at the sight. He puts a hand on Victor’s hip and uses the other to reach down under him, and Victor jerks but bends his knees and plants his feet. It lets Yuuri get a hand firmly on an ass cheek to hold him in place, and he smiles at the way Victor presses down into the touch, as he can feel the tension in his body, the way he arches into the touch of Yuuri’s mouth. He knows how that feels, torn between two promises of pleasure, and he kneads the tight muscles of Victor’s ass to get him to relax.

He lets himself drool on the thin barrier as he mouths along the length of his dick; the saliva mixes with Victor’s precome and wets the fabric till it’s translucent, and Yuuri pulls back to admire his effort. Victor’s cock, covered in a mess of useless clothing which clings to every contour, still happily curved up and toward his left hip. Yuuri feels more blood pulse to his own lower body; he is a very visual creature, after all, and having Victor like this, breathing labored, body flushed, cock rock hard, and at his mercy, is a little too much sometimes. He still can’t believe how much he loves him.

“Mmph.” He lowers his head and nuzzles Victor’s balls, more out of affection than anything else, which makes Victor twitch and spread his legs a little more, walking them out on the bed. “You’re so cute. Ride me?”

Victor’s stomach bows in. When he regains a bit of his composure, he glowers at Yuuri. “You can’t just come out and  _ say _ things like that,” he admonishes, even as he pushes them up and scoots off the bed. Yuuri takes the opportunity to get comfy on his back, watching as Victor strides across the room. Victor’s back is a favorite part of him, if Yuuri had to pick some favorites, along with his arms, and his calves - he admires those, too, flexing as he leans over the dresser on his toes to retrieve his coat from the floor behind it. Yuuri doesn’t even remember tossing it there, and he marvels at the efficiency with which he’d made a mess of the two of them tonight.

Victor plugs his phone into the little speaker set on the chest of drawers, and an upbeat pop song stars. Yuuri wrinkles his nose as Victor turns to face him again and grins. “Red Velvet?” he questions. “Really?”

Victor puts his arms up above his head and stretches, which makes the waistband of his silky shorts ride down. “I’m doing the work tonight, so I get to DJ,” he lilts, by way of explanation, as he comes back to the bed with a sway of his hips that can only be described as  _ sauntering,  _ the fucker. Yuuri gives him an appraising look as he comes to kneel on the bed, and then he bursts out laughing.

“Remember when you got banned from the aux cord in Yuri’s car?” he forces out between wracking giggles. “Otabek and I  _ died.” _ He puts a hand on Victor’s thigh while his sudden hysterics die down.

Victor looks wounded. “It’s not my fault he doesn’t appreciate showtunes.” Victor sniffs, and Yuuri reaches up to flick the tip of his nose with his thumb. “At least let me have my K-pop confections.” He leans down over Yuuri and hovers just an inch or so above his lips. “Oh, vanilla chocolate honey with a cherry on top…”

Yuuri groans. “You’re awful,” he says, and catches Victor’s smile for a split second before taking his lips in another slow, delectable kiss. By the time Victor climbs over him he’s managed to get their underwear off; Yuuri flicks his off the ankle it’s looped around and thinks very briefly of how much work it will be to gather the laundry this weekend before his mind is whited out as Victor’s cock rubs against his.

Victor is the one who breaks them apart. “I scream, you scream,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to Yuuri’s, “gimme that, gimme that.” Yuuri makes a noise of appreciation and rocks his hips up to meet Victor’s; Victor’s eyes flutter closed and he lets out a broken little moan. Yuuri pulls the hair at his crown to look at him, and Victor’s eyes stay closed as they rut together; Yuuri puts the pads of his fingers on Victor’s bottom lip and Victor flicks his tongue against them without missing a beat.

Yuuri chuckles softly. “Gonna need more than that, baby. This is your ass I’m trying to take care of.” Victor’s eyes shoot open. He moans and reaches up to the bedside drawer to retrieve the first bottle of lube he gets his hands on (Victor orders new, gimmicky ones constantly - mint flavored! Organic!), which he presses insistently into Yuuri’s hand as he kisses along Yuuri’s jaw.

“All right, damn,” Yuuri says as he drizzles out the thick gel. Luck of the draw is in his favor - this is a favorite for both of them, water-based, long lasting, not sticky. “You’re so impatient. I’ve got you.” Victor’s teeth graze his Adam’s apple, making him shiver, as he warms the lube up between his fingers, and as he reaches out, Victor arches his back and pushes his ass up so he can meet him. Yuuri spreads him open with his dry hand and runs the fingers of the other up the cleft, and Victor responds beautifully - his kissing trails off as he pants heavily against Yuuri’s neck.

“Mm. I wish you could see yourself right now, Victor. Aching for me.” He shifts around beneath him, adjusts his shoulders on the pillows. “I can’t stop thinking about you taking my cock. You look so pretty up there, like you do on a podium, all proud and strong.” As he pulses his index finger at Victor’s entrance he tips the bottle in the tiny space between them and lets some more of the lube pour out over his own cock; he shivers with the cold as it runs down the underside, and he rubs against Victor’s stomach, relishing the newfound slide, as he presses them together again.

“Wanna ride you,” Victor says, “wanna take it.” He sounds so  _ cute,  _ driven a bit mad, his accent making him slur his English quietly against Yuuri’s neck.

“Yeah?” Yuuri pushes a second finger in past the tight ring of muscle and relishes Victor’s whine. “You gonna make me proud?” He smiles into his hair; that's probably the dumbest thing he's ever said. But Victor always makes him proud. Very slowly, he curls his fingers, feeling for the moment it overtakes as he gradually applies more pressure, and -  _ ah, _ there it is, that Earth-shattering relief, the way Victor’s body shakes all over as he presses into the hot-button switch inside him and then begins rubbing over it, torturously slow. Victor arches more deeply, begging for more, and Yuuri still doesn't really know how to say no to him and so he keeps on stroking him just where he wants, getting his prostate good and open to attention so his cock will find it that much more easily. 

The last time they'd been this thoroughly alone had been in a hotel in Switzerland. Victor had performed a program for the second day of Music on Ice, such a beautiful, artistic thing, and Yuuri had watched him like a hawk and had not even tried to stifle his tears. Then he had taken him to their room and eaten him out until he'd come twice, and then he got his limp, heavy limbs arranged on the bed so he could fuck him slow and sweet, praising him the whole while and thinking of his hips, of their timing on the ice and underneath him. Victor had cried then, softly, letting the tears stream down his face from his tightly shut eyes. Yuuri remembers stroking his face, coaxing them open, seeing them wet and wide, and realizing all over again how deeply he loved him. Loves him. He's drawn back to the present, to the wetness and heat in the crook between his neck and shoulder where Victor rests and breathes, the way his body is elegantly arched and open for him. As much as he wants to hold him like this forever, hands on and in him, he nudges at Victor’s cheek anyway.

“You were saying something about doing the work?” he prods, and if it’s possible with his skin heated to this degree already, Victor blushes. “I’m so  _ tired,” _ Yuuri teases. He pulls his fingers out and runs both hands up Victor’s body, resting them behind his head. Victor looks at him, obviously a bit confused by his stopping; he flashes him a dazzling grin. “Work it out, baby,” he urges him, throwing in a wink for good measure.

That’s all it takes. Victor plants his hands on either side of Yuuri’s body and pushes himself up, but Yuuri is surprised when he doesn’t sit up but scoots down the bed. Yuuri tilts his head in curiosity, even as he shifts his legs open to let Victor kneel between them; Victor gives him a small smile before curling one tentative hand around Yuuri’s hip and using the other to balance on the bed as he leans down. Victor takes it all at once, as usual, ever impatient; his lips are tight around the base of Yuuri’s cock in no time, and his eyes flick up to watch him react. Those  _ eyes, _ Yuuri swears. Victor’s always waxing poetic about Yuuri’s, about their kids’, but Yuuri is often struck down completely by Victor’s, the piercing blue of them, framed by a thick fan of lashes. His eyes are heavy-lidded now, cast in a light, dreamy haze of lust, and he looks so shy and girlish but so happy as he watches Yuuri moan and squirm and fight the force of Victor’s hand holding him down. He’s so  _ strong. _

_ “God,”  _ Yuuri sighs, finally settling in to where Victor wants him, reaching down to run his hands through Victor’s hair a bit frantically. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby, so pretty when you do that.” He always starts talking when Victor shuts up, always wants to fill the gaps of quiet in between the wet sounds of him sucking on his cock. He supposes that at least half of the reason it’s so hot when Victor does this is because he so obviously enjoys it; even the way he’d initiated it here, how he’d looked him up and down and made the decision to go down on him, unable to keep himself away, makes Yuuri go a little dizzy. He imagines himself a siren at moments like this, a body and voice rife with beauty and mystery; Victor lets him believe it, treats him like he worships him. He’s floating, he’s something new; “God,” he says again, and Victor pulls off his dick and smiles.

Because he keeps his lips to the head, his voice rumbles through Yuuri’s body, makes him shudder violently. “All I wanna do is fall in deep,” he sings along with his playlist, adjusts so he’s mouthing down the underside as he keeps going. “Close ain’t close enough till we cross the line.”

Despite himself, Yuuri laughs hard, taken aback. He’s breathless when Victor reaches the base of his cock again and continues, lapping over his balls with his soft tongue; the lube from earlier mixed with Victor’s saliva drips down the seam and Yuuri groans, which he supposes makes his attempt at disapproval that much less believable. “You’re so fucking corny,” he says. Victor grins; this observation only ever seems to goad him on, and yeah, it probably has a lot to do with the fact that Yuuri is at full mast and not losing it anytime soon, but Yuuri still thinks he’s being unfairly disregarded.

“You’re slacking,” he says, cuffing Victor on the ear softly. Victor kneels up again, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s downright nasty, and it sends a thrill through Yuuri’s body, his poor nerves drawn right up under the surface of his hot skin, which Victor is now distracted by, drawing little circles with his nails.

“You look cute,” Victor says, and his hand drifts up Yuuri’s stomach. He gives Yuuri a little smile as he straddles him again, and it’s so genuine and sweet; Yuuri feels his heart break into a million pieces. That Victor is so tender with him even at the dizzying heights of lust is such an incredible thing to know and witness. Victor is like every piece he’s ever realized was missing, and they keep finding new ways to interlock.

The way Victor’s body warms and accepts him as his weight settles over him is not one of those new things, but goddamn it, every time he gets to feel it it’s like coming home. Victor sinks down smoothly, ever graceful even in such deeply inelegant things, and his head is thrown back in pure pleasure; Yuuri can’t resist it, can’t stop thinking about how Victor’s creamy-white skin looks bitten and suckled on, so he sits up, which earns him a gasp and then a deep moan from his husband as he adjusts their angle. It’s good, it is  _ so _ good, so hyperreal that it’s almost eerie, every micromovement and adjustment around him impossibly amplified. Victor’s legs wrap around Yuuri’s waist and he lets him rock them together, controlling the pace and depth as Victor takes over the fluidity, holding still and gritting his teeth through it when he wants a little more friction, arching against Yuuri’s belly when he needs some easy stimulation to spur him along.

Yuuri buries his face in Victor’s neck and groans. This is too much, and yet it’s not nearly enough; he wants so much more from this, wishes that there were an infinite number of ways to delight and maybe surprise Victor, new methods to claim him and make him feel loved, new ways to hold him. But, he supposes, this will do: Victor’s arms over his shoulders, his hands at Victor’s hips, their sweat mixing as they drive each other up higher and higher, until their frenzied rutting culminates in a shattered cry from Victor and a stilted moan from Yuuri a split-second later in response, spilling an unbelievably slow load into Victor’s ass as it flexes and milks it out of him, all the tension and need along with his come. Victor’s body convulses minutely again and again in the aftermath, and Yuuri vaguely feels another warm rush of fluid hit his abdomen where Victor’s cock jumps against him. He focuses very hard on keeping Victor close, on holding his hips so tight his knuckles turn white, totally unwilling to let him go so soon. 

Victor begins pressing into his face with his nose after a while, his mouth still open, breathing still heavy. Yuuri’s touch gradually lightens on his hips, his hands trailing over Victor’s trim waist. Other than that, they don’t move until Victor finally rolls them backward; Yuuri keeps them connected, his dick still nice and hard. He’s surprised that after something as fulfilling as that he could keep it up, and his abdomen twitches painfully at the thought of more, but Victor looks so inviting laid out under him, and it is so easy to get Victor interested again. Yuuri knows just how to do so; it just takes some patience, some light biting and sweet whispering. Victor’s cock is curling up again before he knows it, foreskin barely having had time to shroud the head again before Yuuri starts getting less cuddly and more handsy with him again, pushing his legs up and back so Victor’s all spread out.

He fucks into him slowly a few times, testing Victor’s sensitivity just to be safe. The drag around him is wet and smooth, his own come from the last one slicking the way along with the abundance of still-wet lube. It’s not quite enough friction, but he wants to keep giving Victor that look on his face, that expression that’s somewhere at the crossroads of all the different kinds of desperation, jaw tight with his eyes closed again. He’s still so tight, his body trained to perfection, his mind turned to mush at this point if the endless whimpers are anything to go by. The music has changed to something Yuuri’s unfamiliar with, some driving, slow beat. He focuses on that wordless rhythm and rocks along to it, lets his body sync up, imagining that he’s learning the rhythm of a new program.

Victor lies there for a while but as he adjusts to the sensations, gradually becoming less overwhelming, he starts putting hands all over Yuuri’s body. Yuuri loves that, loves Victor touching him as much and in as many places as possible; his hands coast over his waist, his chest, unfocused. Yuuri props himself up on his hands on either side of Victor’s body; Victor takes hold of his wrists and stares up at him as Yuuri drives into him, afforded more space by their change in angle. He can feel each rivulet of sweat drip down his stomach, down his forehead, and he bears down lower, dropping to his elbows to press right up against Victor chest to chest. Victor’s legs have wrapped around his waist and he’s got his feet hooked over one another, crossed at the ankles, holding Yuuri close; Yuuri can feel his heels dig into his back. Their foreheads touch together and Yuuri takes the opportunity to begin mouthing along Victor’s hairline, messy and imprecise. Victor is humming along with the song playing in between his little moans, and Yuuri gasps as he suddenly feels him tighten up around him on the instroke.

“That’s not fair,” he says darkly, kissing at Victor’s temple. Victor huffs a laugh and smiles at him brightly. He bats his eyes, because he knows that drives Yuuri crazy, and Yuuri makes a vaguely frustrated noise and drives into him harder. There’s no space between them and Victor’s dick is sliding over Yuuri’s stomach, and his skin is so sensitive that he can feel each time it twitches against him, in rhythm with Yuuri nailing his prostate.

Their breathing heightens together, filling all the space between them; Yuuri feels his abdominals tighten, feels the way Victor’s hips shove up hard against his; Victor digs his fingernails into Yuuri’s biceps and is  _ still staring at him, _ goddamn it, and Yuuri feels himself unravel as their eyes continue to be locked on one another. Victor’s face goes soft and sated and he’s  _ smiling _ as Yuuri fills him up for the second time. The audacity.

Victor shudders and ruts against him and gets himself off on Yuuri’s stomach again. Yuuri lets him get what he needs, enjoying being so close, resting his weight full against Victor. He kisses Victor’s sweaty hair and trails smacking, closed-mouth kisses down the side of his face, until their lips meet and everything goes soft again, hazy, though Victor moans into the kiss in a way that could almost convince Yuuri he could get it up again.

“I love you, I love you,” Victor sigh-sings as they pull apart, trailing his fingers across the small of Yuuri’s back and down over the curve of his hip, “and all of your pieces.”

Yuuri’s ears perk up. He’s probably missed six or so songs. “Isn’t this one kind of sad?” he questions.

“It’s relaxing.” Victor winces slightly as Yuuri pulls out, and then he sighs, shifting his shoulders around to loosen them up. Yuuri falls back in the other direction, head on the pillows, and Victor crawls up the bed beside him, flopping down on his belly. He laces his hands together and supports himself on his forearms, elbows to the bed, watching Yuuri intently.

“What?” Yuuri pries. Victor teds to get sort of in his own head - they both do, actually. It’s all leftover habits from their competitive days, a quiet method of compartmentalizing out one’s thoughts and not psyching out. But Yuuri still tends to squirm under the scrutiny of his husband. And it’s sort of creepy when Victor stares at him, honestly - he hardly blinks, and his eyes are so intense on their own.

Victor doesn’t answer him with words - he scoots in and slots their bodies against each other, pushing one of his legs between both of Yuuri’s and hooking their ankles. His face goes into Yuuri’s neck and he nibbles at his collarbone; Yuuri is ticklish there and makes a little noise of discomfort, a half-laugh half-whine. Victor laughs and his breath is cool as it ghosts over the bit of skin he’s made wet, and then he sets to work sucking a bruise into the same spot, and Yuuri gasps. He’d normally bat him away but he’s too enthralled with the idea of Victor claiming him.

A song Yuuri recognizes is playing, filling the room with them quiet now and wrapped around each other. He likes it; Victor is pretty good at incorporating things that align with both their tastes and not forcing Yuuri to listen to bubblegum pop constantly, at least. He wraps an arm around his husband and lets Victor curve himself around his side, and he tilts his head to press his nose and lips back into Victor’s hair. “Mm, stay open,” he mumbles in time, rapidly falling asleep.

He feels Victor’s teeth press lightly against his neck as he grins.

 

*

 

They meet Yuri and Otabek at the rink late in the morning. Otabek is out on the ice with Kami, running her through some basic technique, and Yuri is reading to Luka on the floor in the office. Mila, meanwhile, is running her latest hockey player through some yoga, and the poor guy is struggling. Technically it’s an off day, which is why there’s no Yakov, and only Yuri on duty. Nobody else has bought ice time, but it’s Sunday morning, so that’s not surprising.

“Shouldn’t you be training?” Yuuri tosses his bag down and leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Making use of downtime at work?”

Yuri glares at him as the toddler in his lap excitedly flips them a page backward to look at the picture again. “Does this not look like a useful way to spend my time?” he says testily. His eyes narrow a bit more as he looks Yuuri up and down. “And shouldn’t you be looking a little less like you got dicked down about twelve times?”

Yuuri has to concede that he has a point. More than one, actually. His hand comes absently up to his neck, tracing over the hickeys Victor left last night and then bit at this morning over the fabric of his zipped-up skating top. His warm-up pants are about as rumpled as his hair, he knows. He runs his hand through the latter as he blushes and turns away, having finished lacing up, coming up rinkside just in time to see his daughter perform a long, if nearly two-footed, waltz jump.

His heart stops a little bit. When his mind catches up to his voice he shouts out Otabek’s name, and Otabek finishes applauding before nodding to the girl and skating over to him. “What’s up?”

“When did she learn her edges!?” Yuuri stammers.

Otabek beams, clearly proud. “We’ve been working on it for a few weeks. She’s pretty good, no? She’s got the advantage of having good crosscuts to build on.” He must see Yuuri’s skepticism, because he hastens to add, “Don’t worry, Katsuki. I don’t plan on teaching her the Axel anytime soon. She’s too talented to waste on an injury before age 10.” He turns and skates back to the center of the ice, clapping a couple times for her attention. “Kami!” he calls. “Swizzles! Let’s go!”

Victor is humming as he plugs his laptop in behind him. Yuuri turns and places his hands on his hips. “Did you know our kid is jumping now?” he says, and he’ll readily admit it’s a bit accusatory; Victor intentionally having kept this from him is totally grounds for a night banished to the couch.

Victor simply smiles as he fiddles around with Spotify. “Yuri told me a little bit about it, back when she was first landing it. It’s funny that she never really bothers to perform for us, don’t you think?”

Yuuri sighs a bit whimsically and shakes his head. “She has too much fun out there with you. And she wants to impress her uncles. To hell with us.” He turns back and looks out at Kami doing her swizzles next to Otabek. “She’s so strong,” he remarks, watching her knees bend and straighten. “I don’t know why I’m all that surprised. She’s built just like you.”

Victor grins and squeezes his hand as he comes up beside him to watch for a moment, too. “You’ve got one, too, you know,” he tells him, and nods over Yuuri’s shoulder, toward the office. “Luka looks just like all your mom’s pictures from when you were that age, and he gets more and more like you every day. I can already tell he has your sense of humor.” Victor smiles and leans in to kiss him, just a quick peck on the cheek, but Otabek catches them and whoops.

“All right, Altin,” Victor says loudly, moving to the gate. “Ice dance battle me, and just for that, loser buys us all lunch. Yuuri, darling,” he calls over his shoulder, “hit play for me?”

Yuuri regrets not looking at what was queued before he hits the spacebar. “Victor,” he cries woefully, thinking of his poor, sweet children’s innocent ears,  _ “Anaconda!?” _

But Victor is already busy skating ahead of Otabek and shaking his hips as he kicks his feet out in turn. Kami is cutting lobes with approximations of Choctaws, unaffected.

“I hate you so much,” he mouths, as Victor laps the rink again and skates past him. Victor sticks his tongue out at him and then throws his leg up into arabesque for a camel spin, strength and music. Strength and music.


	2. long day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some discussion of anxiety and depression in here.
> 
> also warning for victor being a cheeseball.
> 
> this takes place three and a half years after chapter 1.
> 
> songs mentioned:  
> tomorrow, from the musical annie ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNF1Rh1RQFo))

When it happens, the entire room goes silent.

Victor freezes with his arms elbow-deep in the dishwater, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prick up. He imagines Kamiko’s voice sort of echoing off the walls, and he thinks he can _hear_ Yuuri’s spine snap into stick-straight alignment from where he stands behind him. He shakes off his hands, but by the time he turns Yuuri is halfway down the hall. He watches him storm through their bedroom door, wincing as he slams it behind him, before he turns his attention on their kid, wet hands on his hips.

“Don’t even think about it,” he tells her, seeing her mouth drop open to start to defend herself. “Bed. Now.” He points, and Kami slides out of the dining chair she’s been occupying, glaring pointedly at Victor as she moves past him. Victor shakes himself when he hears her door close. If looks could kill, that little girl’s would slice him open, but thankfully she hadn’t tried to argue with him.

With the main area of the house empty, Victor finishes up the last few dishes, drains the sink, and checks on Luka as he heads down the hallway. Their youngest is sound asleep, his night light glowing softly from the outlet near his bed. It illuminates his square little face, and Victor thinks of Yuuri’s mother’s family photo album, of tiny Yuuri with his hair sticking up every which way and his chubby cheeks flushed. He feels his heart swell and he shuts the door on himself, resisting the pull drawing him to his son’s side. He has someone else to cuddle right now.

 

*

 

Yuuri turns onto his side, stares at the wall. He pulls his knees to his chest. He feels small and childish, with _I hate you_ bouncing back and forth between the walls of his skull in Kami's little voice. How does she know how to say such cutting things, how to get so close to what Yuuri fears the most? It's like she'd looked at him and immediately seen what would hurt the most.

And he _knows_ he's reading too much into it, he knows that she's nine and that nine-year-olds try out words they pick up for no reason other than to test reactions - God knows he'd read enough child psychology books when Mari had been pregnant, poring over volume after volume from the library as Victor looked on in shock. ("Uh, Abnormal Adolescent Psychology?" he'd said one day, wide-eyed, examining the cover of one of the three books Yuuri had been taking notes in at once. "Don't you think that's a little… overzealous?" Victor had picked the book up like it was seeping poison from the pages, touching only the corner. "Premature, maybe?" This had not done much to alleviate Yuuri's anxiety.) But there is a part of him that knows that she'd also said it with the intent to wound him. And that hurts worse than anything else. She's so little and so smart, and he feels a brand-new level of adoration whenever he looks at her, but the contempt with which she'd sniffed and wrinkled her nose and turned all that intelligence on him at once in such a focused and concise way had just driven a stake through his heart. And she had said it so _easily_. Without a second thought.

He hears the door click, reaches out blindly, zombie-like, to grasp the blankets and draw them up to his chest, burying his face in them. Victor's weight settles on the edge of the bed, and after a moment his hand cups Yuuri's ankle, just a gentle, acknowledging touch. Something about it shakes the very last bit of Yuuri loose, and he starts _crying,_ oh God, the tears blurring his vision faster than he can blink them away. His face is so wet and the blanket he clutches tightly, holds onto for dear life, to is doing nothing to help it. He imagines the way he looks - cheeks ruddy, nose red, because he _knows_ what he looks like when he cries, pathetic and ugly - and tucks further into himself when Victor squeezes his calf, feeling undeserving of his comfort and attention. He just wants to be left alone to sob this out in peace, even though he knows curling up in exhaustion isn't a healthy way to finish out his evening. Victor always has to talk everything out, and it's so hard sometimes - there are so many times where Yuuri's wanted to retreat to his old habits. At least being alone takes less effort. Nobody to explain to except himself.

Victor's hand slides up and down his calf, fidgeting with Yuuri's sock. He doesn't say anything, not pushing, just resting the weight of his hand against Yuuri. Yuuri tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably, hiccuping out a few more sobs, and he finally realizes the futility of the situation and turns over, sitting up so Victor can pull him close. Victor's arms are so strong and warm around him, and Yuuri feels his body relax and accept the comfort like it's automatic, like it's meant to be. Some days it's hard to believe this is all his.

With one arm around his waist, Victor's other hand goes to play with Yuuri's hair, a rhythmic stroking motion that would have Yuuri purring if he could stop crying. “She didn’t mean it, you know,” Victor tells him. “She’s nine.”

Yuuri murmurs something indistinguishable, andthen says, “I just -“ and he pauses, hiccups, a painful thing -“I feel like I can’t do anything right.” He’s trying _so hard_ to calm himself down but it just isn’t working. Victor looks at him for a moment, his eyebrows pulling together in sympathy, then he pulls Yuuri back to his chest. Yuuri feels the tears surge up again in his throat, and he lets them all out this time, quiet sobs against Victor’s chest with his hand clutching at Victor’s shirt.

“You want to know what you did right?” Victor says after a moment of quiet, still stroking Yuuri’s hair. _Please,_ Yuuri thinks, and he is immediately embarrassed by how desperately he wants Victor to tell him. He grunts to prompt Victor to continue, too exhausted to speak.

Victor’s smile is easy when he pulls back, and he takes Yuuri’s face in his hands before continuing, looking straight into Yuuri’s eyes as he strokes over his cheeks. “Look around you,” he says, smiling gently. "All of this is ours, and I couldn't have done it without you. I mean that." His head tilts, and he frowns, swiping the pads of his thumbs over the tears still lingering on Yuuri's bottom lashline. Yuuri lets his eyes drift close, focusing on the way his head pounds. It has been _such_ a hard day, feeling behind since he woke up, unable to catch up with his list of things to do and keep the kids happy at the same time, one of those days where he'd just needed Victor. But Victor had been working, and had gotten home just in time to catch Kami pissed because Yuuri had forgotten to send her to school with the check for a field trip on the due date, just in time to witness her toss a string of rather creative schoolkid insults at him and culminate the assault in "You're so _stupid,_ Daddy! I hate you!" Vicious and mean. And now they're here, alone in the quiet, dark, cool bedroom they share, and it feels like Victor's hands are all that's holding Yuuri up. Exhaustion seeps suddenly through him, turning his muscles to mush. He collapses forward against Victor's chest.

His head is a bit clearer now, but not all the way, and it somehow makes him realize how hard it is to breathe - he gathers some of Victor’s t-shirt up and blows his nose in it, and he feels marginally better. Victor gives him a look of hopeless disgust as Yuuri pulls back and then leans in again, this time to dab his wet nose against the clean fabric at his shoulder.

Still, Victor is gentle. "You want me to run you a bath?"

Yuuri shakes his head against him. Their chests are pressed together like this, and if he didn't know how much better he'll feel after some steam clears out his sinuses and his aching head, he'd skip bathing altogether in favor of falling asleep right here. As it stands, he tells Victor _Shower_ and Victor pulls them up to their feet, letting Yuuri sway into him. They walk together into the ensuite, where Yuuri takes a shaky breath as he leans against the counter and watches Victor get the water running. He lets Victor undress him after pulling off his own shirt, reaching up to hold his shoulders as Victor tilts Yuuri's chin up to bring their lips together. Victor's hands go to Yuuri's hips when he's down to his underwear, thumbing over the hollows of his hipbones. "You up to it?" he murmurs, his breath ghosting through the hair at Yuuri's temple, ticklish. He leaves a kiss there to punctuate.

"I don't know," Yuuri answers honestly, thinking of how tired he is. Victor takes it in stride, kissing his cheek and pushing his waistband down so they can step into the shower. Yuuri runs his hand over Victor's chest and collarbone, hot water cascading down him, as they stand face-to-face in the shower. Victor turns him and washes his hair, his back, massages his neck and lays a soft kiss atop each loosened-up muscle as he goes. Yuuri sighs, feeling the heat beat from the showerhead straight into his aching bones. Victor catches him again as he rocks back.

"You really have done so much good for us," Victor says. Yuuri feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes again, but it just feels cathartic so he lets them fall down his cheeks undeterred. _Us,_ meaning family, he thinks, meaning Victor and their children. For nine years going on ten they've given everything to them, and if Yuuri is honest with himself he thinks he'd do it forever, he'd take thousands more hard, headachey nights like these if in the mornings he got to see their smiles, feel their little arms wrap tight around his middle and refuse to let go, hear their excited chattering, even when it's in a half-made-up language he can't understand a lick of. Victor's palms slide over Yuuri's stomach, rising and falling with his breathing. The water goes lukewarm. Victor dries Yuuri off, humming the whole while, an easy smile on his lips, and then wraps him in a fresh, huge, fluffy towel and nudges him out of the bathroom.

Yuuri collapses on the bed while Victor puts some pajamas on, and he curls into him when he climbs into bed a moment later after turning off the lights. He breathes in, for the millionth time, the way the natural scents of their cleaned skin mix together, rubs his cheek against the soft, thin cotton of Victor's nightclothes.

He's halfway drifted off when he realizes Victor is humming again. He nuzzles closer and grumbles, wanting nothing more than to have been fast asleep _hours_ ago.

"Tomorrow, tomorrow." Victor's fingers work over Yuuri's scalp, and his voice is a whisper. Yuuri barks out a disbelieving laugh.

"Are you singing _Annie?"_ he asks, tone incredulous, shoving at Victor's side.

He can feel Victor's smile on the top of his head as he ducks down to kiss there. "There'll be sun," he sings, a little louder. Yuuri hopes Victor doesn't catch his blushing smile, but he probably does. He kisses him full on the lips and Yuuri sighs into it, feeling himself pass out by degrees while he lazily kisses Victor back. Victor lets him drift, only pulling away when Yuuri can't respond any more.

 

*

 

 _There,_ Victor thinks.

He studies Yuuri's face in the dark, gently pushing his hair back off his forehead. He sneaks around for Yuuri's phone and shuts the alarm off; in the morning he'll drive the kids to school himself and talk to Kami on the way, figure out one of their Mad Plans, the ones that refocus her frustration into something productive when she wants to tell someone she hates them. He hopes to nip this newest thing in the bud as soon as possible, but trying to discuss it with her in the immediate wake of an incident such as tonight's will never work, not when she's so freshly steamed. Kids don't have a way of logically approaching their feelings while they're still experiencing them.

Yuuri's hair is so thick and dries so slow. His pillow is damp. Victor thinks about how much they've learned together, and he watches Yuuri's face relax into deep sleep. He'd like to learn so much more.

"Come what may," he sighs to himself, pulling the quilt and sheet up over the two of them. Yuuri mumbles and snuggles closer into Victor's chest. Victor feels his heart pang with affection, and falls asleep sharing Yuuri's wet pillow, with Yuuri's hair in his mouth, and it's simple and perfect and close to the happiest he's ever been.


	3. morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they help each other feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> porn! no music. just porn. have fun kids.
> 
> gendered slur in here, and overwhelmed crying/a small fuck-up as far as bdsm etiquette goes that's quickly resolved and forgiven. i think that's pretty much it as far as warnings go.

Victor is propped up on his elbow, his fingers are trailing light over Yuuri’s shoulder, the slight tickle of the contact making Yuuri shiver, just a little. He smiles and closes his eyes again, content to enjoy Victor’s quiet attention. “How are you feeling?” Victor asks softly. Yuuri pulls a face, making it clear that he is not awake enough to be holding conversation. He’s feeling like he wants Victor to cuddle up to him while he falls back asleep.

Then he remembers the night before, softens under Victor’s concern. “Mm,” he grunts noncommittally. His head hurts just a little. He takes a deep breath, and it helps. “Better,” he decides. He opens one of his eyes to regard his husband. “Did you take the kids to school already?”

“Yes.” Victor isn’t looking him in the eye, seems to be distracted by Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri realizes he’d fallen asleep naked, and he shifts under the sheets as he realizes that the tip of Victor’s tongue is poking out between his lips. The way he’s skating his fingers over Yuuri’s arm, on every upstroke the tips of his nails scrape lightly over Yuuri’s bicep. Yuuri blinks his eyes open all the way and wets his bottom lip, going quiet until Victor meets his eyes. When he looks up, they hold each other’s gaze for a moment; Yuuri catches his lip between his teeth. As Victor leans in, flattening his body on top of Yuuri’s, Yuuri’s hand goes up to cup Victor’s shoulder, and he squeezes the muscle there; Victor gives a short moan, letting Yuuri’s tongue slip easily into his mouth. Yuuri takes control of the kiss, pressing his palm down Victor’s back until he reaches the hem of his sweater, and he pushes the cashmere up to get at the warm skin at the small of his back. Victor sighs heavily into him and tilts his head to press them closer together, and Yuuri lets his free hand come up to fiddle with his hair. He holds him there, kissing him deeply, going from slow and sweet to hot and needy within seconds, as he pulls his hand up Victor’s spine beneath his shirt, barely grazing scratches he knows he’s left before. Victor shivers. Yuuri’s hand tightens in his hair for just a moment, almost a promise, and then releases as he wraps both arms around Victor’s body, skimming over his ass with his hands, his touch light and teasing over his curves. Victor’s kiss breaks off and he moans softly into Yuuri’s shoulder.

Yuuri snickers. “You like that?” he asks quietly, dangerously. Victor nods furiously, turning to press his lips against Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri shifts his shoulders to give him more skin to work at as he gets his hands under the waistband of Victor’s sweatpants, curling his nails into each of Victor’s cheeks beneath the fabric before shoving them down over the crest of his ass. Victor isn’t wearing anything underneath. Yuuri sighs, soft and surprising even to him in how affectionate it is. “Did I ever tell you how much I appreciate that you make it so easy for me?”

Victor’s teeth graze along Yuuri’s ear. “Are you calling me a slut?” he asks, nibbling just under the lobe.

Yuuri hums. “Maybe,” he says. He lowers his hands to the point where Victor’s ass rises from his thighs and smacks the bare skin. “It depends,” he continues without missing a beat, even as Victor whimpers wetly into his neck at the impact, “are you asking me to?”

Victor huffs and nuzzles into Yuuri’s collarbone. “Nothing like that, but there was something I was thinking about asking you for.”

“Mm.” Yuuri grazes his teeth over Victor’s earlobe. “Anything you want, baby,” he whispers. It’s the truth. The way Victor’s hiding his face, Yuuri can feel the heat in his cheek as it brushes up against his. All these years and he’s still a little bit of a sucker for Victor being shy, loves every single desire his husband has and loves them more for how timidly he brings them up, as if he actually has to convince Yuuri to try anything.

Victor allows himself another moment before sitting up to straddle Yuuri. He absently traces the musculature of Yuuri’s chest, studying a spot just to the left of him. “Do you remember when you tied me up?” he blurts out, mostly to the pillow under Yuuri’s head.

Yuuri feels his own breath hitch. It’s been years since they’ve done that. Before Luka, at least. But he still has all their rope, of course, the thin lengths of jute he’d had dyed emerald green in their twenties and which have sat gathering dust in the far reaches of their walk-in closet since they’d been shoved there upon move-in. He thinks back, remembers Victor’s pale skin in contrast to the rope, remembers looping it over his skin in various knots and finds that his fingers itch to tie them again. He remembers every tie but wants to re-learn the way Victor’s body moves under them, elegant and restrained. He slides his hands up Victor’s back to tangle in Victor’s hair and pulls him down for a hot and searing kiss. Victor’s tongue is the first to breach their lips this time, the slick slide of it against him after a beat of shock making Yuuri’s cock stir but he knows he has to wait. He has to wait, and take Victor apart, and take him under, make him soft and subby and desperate.

“You’re so fucking brilliant,” he says as they gradually pull away. They share a laugh, a little joy-filled thing, and the wide-open smile on Victor’s face makes Yuuri forget he was upset the previous evening at all. “Move,” he says, squirming under Victor. “Floor or bed?”

Victor lets out a harsh breath. “Bed?” he requests. “Honestly, I don’t know how nice the floor would be to my knees.”

Yuuri smiles at him, sits up as best he can for another peck, since Victor still hasn’t moved. “You old man,” he says fondly, and shimmies his hips again. “Get off.”

“I plan to,” Victor sighs, and he moves, rolling away even as he breaks out in a giggle fit when Yuuri smacks his arm for such a joke. Yuuri gets up and plucks some pants from the dresser drawer, and when he turns back around to put them on he catches Victor staring at him, hungry eyes all over his body.

He cocks his hip out to the side just a bit, leaves he waistband down at his thighs for the moment. “See something you like?” he asks playfully.

Victor’s head bobs up and down, and he licks his lips a few times. “You have such a cute dick, you know that?”

Yuuri blushes hot and fierce and quickly finishes pulling his pajama bottoms up, not missing Victor’s regretful tongue-click as he does. “I can’t believe you just say things like that,” he huffs as he goes to the closet to get the necessary supplies. Victor cackles and by the time Yuuri has fished the rope out from its box - under two boxes of Polaroid photos and recipes his mother had forced him to take - he is sprawled out comfortably on his back on the bed, his finger tracking down the screen of his phone idly, and his pants and sweater are in a pile on the floor.

And Yuuri _knows_ that Victor is shameless when it comes to nudity, _and_ that he’s gorgeous, but it always takes his breath away. His quiet nonchalance about his body is both terrifying and arousing and Yuuri looks over the visible strength in his legs, bent casually at the knee to plant his feet, and immediately wants to fuck him soundly all the way into next Friday.

He takes his phone from Victor’s hands as he sits on the bed, sets it very gently on the end table. Yuuri crowds down over Victor and presses their lips together, a soft, slow kiss that he lets Victor sink into gradually, groaning quietly when Victor’s hands go to his hair. He smiles and feels Victor return it against his lips. Yuuri manages to get his hand between them without Victor noticing, and when his fingertips brush the underside of Victor’s cock, Victor breaks from their kiss for only a moment. “Oh!” he says breathlessly, a puff of air over Yuuri’s kiss-swollen lips, “oh, fuck.”

Yuuri giggles and continues teasing him, nails scratching lightly over his skin.He feels Victor’s breath ghosting over his cheek, rustling the fine hairs behind his ear, leaning down over him to keep them close. He stabilizes Victor with a hand at the back of his head and pulls away only a little to look at him. Victor, shivering, hips rocking absently up to where Yuuri could touch him if only he could be bothered to, looks beautiful, Yuuri thinks, his hair disheveled and his forehead starting to shine with sweat. And Yuuri wants to keep him like this, wants to keep him underneath him and get him begging and desperate, show off how well he can top him with or without rope.

But the hand not in Yuuri’s hair is tracking over the bed beside them where Yuuri has left the rope, and before Yuuri knows it, Victor is pressing the bundles into his chest. Asking. Yuuri takes them from him and all the remaining tension leaves Victor’s body; his shoulders collapse into the bedspread beneath him, his thighs splaying out wider. Like taking the weight from him, all the things Victor can’t process on his own and which Yuuri is happy to shoulder for him. After all, Victor has always done the same for him in return.

He gets Victor kneeling up in the center of their bed, taps at his inner thigh to encourage him to widen his legs. “Balance okay?” he asks, and kisses Victor’s shoulder blade, thumbing at the spot afterward.

“Yeah,” Victor says, “I’m okay.” He rolls his shoulders back. He turns a bit for a kiss and Yuuri indulges him, and this one is heated and heavy, full to the brim promise. Victor’s hand slides back to Yuuri’s hips, fingers curling into a tight grip as Yuuri presses up to his back. Yuuri holds his wrist, grounds him, and uses the other hand to skim Victor’s chest. Victor’s breath quickens as Yuuri touches his nipples and he tilts his head back further, arches just a little so that he’s practically bent backward and under him. Yuuri continues with a flat palm, all the way down his stomach to his groin, skating the back of his hand up his left thigh and over his dick. Victor shivers again, this time with a moan, so loud it seems to surprise him. He laughs sheepishly when Yuuri pulls away to regard him, and Yuuri pays him a kind smile.

“Cute,” he praises. His fingers tighten around Victor’s wrist. His thumb is right over his pulse point, his heart beating right into Yuuri.

He gathers his other wrist up too and arranges his arms, a nice, clean boxtie position, and begins tying the cuff. He kisses him as he crosses the rope over his shoulder and chest, and then brings himself in to focus. It turns out to be exactly what he needs, the motions and tie-offs familiar and simple, but they look as beautiful as they ever could against Victor’s skin. When he’s done he stands to admire the framing he’s done of Victor’s chest - a flat stripe beneath his chest accentuating the broadness of his middle, the diagonal X just over his collarbone, the rope set into his biceps. His breath is fast and shallow, his eyes closed, and Yuuri takes a moment to reflect on what he’s gotten himself into. Victor seems to have fallen under extremely fast - it’s probably to do with the fact that they haven’t done this in so very, very long. Yuuri thinks he probably doesn’t need any more to get where he needs to be, but there’s another length of rope bundled around itself, lying at Victor’s knee.

Victor is pliant under his hands. He goes where Yuuri wants him to go, down to the mattress on his front with only the slightest push. Yuuri breathes. He trusses Victor’s calves up to his thighs, wrapping the excess rope around his feet at the arch and anchoring it all together at the single-column cuff around his wrists. “Gorgeous,” he says aloud, kissing the small of Victor’s back through the frame of the rope. With his legs up out of the way like this, Yuuri can keep trailing kisses freely down his back, up over the curve of his ass, and he laughs when Victor’s hips twitch and shimmy as he gets closer and closer to the place Yuuri knows he wants him. He parts him open with one hand kneading into the soft flesh of his ass and lays a long stripe of his tongue over his hole, then blows soft, cool air over it, watching him squirm.

He rubs into the mattress and Yuuri reaches under him, cupping his cock again. “Pretty boy,” he coos, leaning in again to suck at Victor’s rim, a move that always makes Victor jerk and sob - this time is no different. He bucks forward into Yuuri’s hand and Yuuri obliges him, lets him do it, working his fingers over the head and down the shaft even at the weird angle.

The sound Victor lets out when Yuuri sinks his tongue into him is low and unbridled, and Yuuri honestly doesn’t think he’s heard anything hotter in his entire life. Victor squirms in his bonds, his ankles flexing, his toes curling, but he can’t get any leverage like this, and Yuuri keeps fucking him with his tongue, squeezing the fleshiness of his hips and ass appreciatively.

Victor’s moans are coming quick and rhythmic, every other breath a panting _please_ or _fuck, Yuuri_ or _yes._ Yuuri rubs the heel of his hand a little harder against him for a few moments, until Victor is incoherent, begging for Yuuri to let him come.

He pulls back just in time and smacks Victor’s hip to bring him down. Victor moans, loud and mournful. “Do you think you can roll over for me, sweetheart?” Yuuri asks him.

Again, Victor goes without much fight, his legs and arms under him, back arched up. Yuuri takes the opportunity to nibble at his jaw and chest, deliberately ignoring his erection except to praise him verbally for it, cooing about how sweet he looks, how hot and hard. He stands and pushes his flannel pants down to his thighs again, lets Victor see how hard he is as he wraps a hand around his own cock and strokes. He’s so wet with precome, and can see how Victor’s is dripping onto his stomach, visibly needy. His eyes are half-closed but trained on Yuuri standing over him, staying focused with great effort. Victor wants to slip under, to be taken care of completely, Yuuri can tell, and when he moves in close again and slides his lips over Victor’s cheek and down his jaw Victor’s eyes fall shut and he arches his neck up to grant Yuuri access.

Yuuri taps his fingers at Victor’s side as he marks him up with a few hickeys, trying to decide what he wants to do. With Victor all laid out like this, so willing and wanton, it seems like there are far too many possibilities for Yuuri to settle on any one thing. He gets up, leaves Victor on the bed despite his protests to hunt through their toybox again, critically appraising option after option before finally picking out a couple of things he decides he might be amenable to and carrying them back to the bed with him.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks Victor when he returns; Victor’s cheeks are wet, his eyelashes soaked with tears, but he’s silent, face scrunched up trying to control himself. Overcome with concern as Victor takes a gasping breath, Yuuri realizes his mistake. “Oh, Victor, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says, curling around him and stroking his jaw, kissing him softly. “I didn’t mean to leave you with no warning, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I won’t stop touching you from now on, I’ll keep one hand on you the whole time.”

Victor doesn’t like to be left alone when he’s tied up. He loves being bound, but giving up a part of his awareness is part of the appeal of that, and Yuuri should have known better. Victor couldn’t think straight enough to track him around the room, but he doesn’t seem to have gotten altogether too upset - he seems relieved, now, and sniffles.

“You ok?” Yuuri asks patiently. He plants a kiss to Victor’s cheekbone, just below his eye. “You want to keep going?”

“I’m good.” Victor opens his eyes and smiles at him. “Please keep going.”

Remembering his promise, Yuuri keeps his hand on Victor’s hip as he circles to kneel before him again. “You are so _gorgeous,_ baby,” he praises as he splays his fingers apart, studying their skintones up against one another. “You make me so fucking hot.” Victor mewls in response, licks his chapped lips and throws his head back to the bed.

“You don’t wanna watch?” Yuuri says lightly, smirking. He leans down and tongues lightly over the head of Victor’s cock, just letting the muscle glide warm and wet as it wants to over his skin. Victor tastes like salt and sweat and the clean bite of soap. Yuuri moans, feeling his eyes slip shut, feeling his resistance breaking - he wraps his lips around the tip and gives Victor one hard suck, savoring the way Victor’s resulting moan reverberates through him and down Yuuri’s own spine.

He quickly gains control of himself, pulling away but keeping his hand on Victor’s stomach to rifle through the items he’d dropped beside him on the bed. “Should I fill you up?” he asks, dragging the cool metal of a slim plug over the back of Victor’s thigh even as he pours some lube down Victor’s crack, letting it drip slowly over his balls. Victor shudders and babbles a little, squirming in his ropes - Yuuri laments for a moment at how uncomfortable his shoulders must be. He hadn’t expected for Victor to end up on his back, but here they are, and Victor doesn’t seem all that bothered - he’s much more concerned with shimmying his hips down toward Yuuri. Yuuri hums, indulges himself by playing a little with Victor’s ass, fingertips teasing at his rim and scissoring him open before leaning in to nibble at it again. Victor bucks for it just as Yuuri pulls away, and he shoves the plug into him immediately, watching with fascination Victor’s ass flexes to accommodate it. He pulls it out, pops it back in, pulls out again - he watches him gape and listen to him moan, loud and wanting.

“Don’t think you quite deserve it,” he says finally, dropping the plug back onto the bed. Victor whines and shuffles around a bit to readjust his limbs as best he can, and Yuuri takes the brief opportunity to lube up the stroker he’d selected. It’s got soft, conductive silicone wings that flex around his fingers as he reaches inside, and he tests out a couple of the different vibrations on his hand.

Victor isn’t looking at him. His hair is mussed from being rubbed across the bedspread, his cheeks and broad chest flushed, his head back, eyes closed. Yuuri kisses him as he slips the vibrator over the head of his cock, and Victor’s lips part for Yuuri’s tongue with a moan. Yuuri deepens the kiss, grinning, and then he flips the vibe on, slowly pulling it up and down Victor’s shaft in contrast to the quick little pulses of stimulation he can feel it giving him beneath his hand. Victor starts getting predictably antsy right away, having already been so hard and needy by the time Yuuri had gotten around to actively stimulating him, and Yuuri chuckles softly against him, pulling away from his lips only to pay some more attention to the bruises he’d laid earlier over his collarbone, lapping over them with his tongue, even grazing them with his sharpest teeth. His beautiful husband, so easy to take apart. Such a sucker.

“I’m gonna make you scream for me,” Yuuri promises, squeezing the stroker so it wraps more tightly around Victor’s cock and pausing his up-and-down motion. “It’s been too long since I’ve made you scream. Good boys come when they’re told, and I’m telling you to come, Victor. You wanna be a good boy? Come on.”

Yuuri switches the speed up two levels as Victor’s cock starts to empty - usually he’d love watching it twitch and jump, but as it is, held completely immobile in Yuuri’s hand and the toy, warm semen falls all over his hand in slow pulses as Victor comes. He makes some soft, pleading noises, shifting around uncomfortably, but Yuuri loves this particular vibe for the way it’ll stay on him even if he lets go, so he does, leaving Victor shaking and overstimulated as his soft dick flops onto his stomach under the weight of the toy. Yuuri watches him try to breathe through it with much amusement as he lines himself up, and when he sinks into Victor’s wet heat to the hilt he lets his hips sit against Victor’s for a long moment, able to feel the ghost of the vibrations through him. The buttons on the toy give him easy access and he cycles through a few of the options, finding one that’s deep and slow, and he sets his pace to match it, thrusting in long, patient strokes and focusing on hitting the spot he knows will make Victor come more efficiently than anything else.

Combined with the continued assault of the toy, he’s done for, as Yuuri predicted. Yuuri leans down low over him and slams in deep, supporting himself on his elbows. Victor’s cock is pressed between their bellies, still slick with the remnants of his previous orgasm, and Yuuri knows he’s about to blow again soon because Victor is kissing sloppily at Yuuri’s jaw and neck, biting aggressively into his shoulder. He’s worked him right through one orgasm and into the throes of another, and Yuuri feels proud as hell. Victor can’t let go like this unless he’s tied up, and Yuuri can’t lose himself without his husband letting go. He drives in to slap his balls against Victor’s ass again and again, pace quicker now, and turns up the vibe just one more level so that Victor will hit the edge.

Victor does scream, in the end. He moans first, and he growls and hisses angrily after, but he _does_ scream, and Yuuri buries himself so deep inside him as he does it that he thinks he momentarily loses where he actually ends and Victor begins. He can feel every tremor of Victor’s body as he fights to come down off the high to a comfortable level of stimulation, and Yuuri finally takes some pity on him and removes the vibrator, tossing it to the side and undoing one of Victor’s legs so he can push it back, wrapping both hands around it as he kisses his calf and continues fucking him, hard and fast. Victor’s ass is wet and loose, so thoroughly relaxed after two orgasms.

Yuuri bites into his calf - a rather original place for a hickey, he muses - and pulls out. He groans softly as he comes, letting his cock spill all over Victor’s groin, his cock, already covered in two loads of his own, now painted with Yuuri’s thick release as well. Yuuri watches himself buck his hips into his hand, watching the muscles in Victor’s stomach twitch as his cock tries desperately to get hard again despite his utter exhaustion. It’s something Yuuri never really gets tired of.

He unties Victor the rest of the way, flipping him over onto his front after undoing the knots on his other thigh, and he gently pulls the rope out from under him, pushing back his own sweat-soaked hair and throwing the loose lengths of rope onto the floor. He collapses next to him and gathers Victor to him, kissing across his back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade and running his hand over Victor’s warm chest.

“Victor?” he asks gently after a while, going up to his elbow to look down over Victor’s side. Victor hums as if being roused from a deep sleep and opens one eye, crooking a brow up at Yuuri.

Yuuri sighs. “Thanks,” he says. It sounds almost funny, incredibly simple. But he means it, and as Victor smiles, lets his eyes flutter closed, and drifts off as Yuuri strokes his hair, Yuuri supposes that Victor knows how deeply he really does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this](https://www.lovehoney.com/product.cfm?p=36915) is that toy they're using

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i love you.


End file.
